After returning to America, Edith jumped back into her writing. She had a new perspective on romance and love and was able to add a different aspect of it to her book. It was different, ugly and hard and it sold.

Not that she needed the money of course with her father's inheritance she could have lived well off for the rest of her life but that just was just completely against her nature. She needed to make her own path, her own name, make 'Edith Cushing' a legacy in its self, not the unfortunate daughter of a deceased industrialist who was swept away to England by a Baronet only to come back a widow.

Alan's mother always made sure to bring up their previous conversation in which Edith said she preferred to die a widow than a spinster whenever she was in earshot. Edith was already very good at ignoring her barbs but even more so now that she was becoming successful in her career. Alan would always try to silence or at least lessen his mother's vitriol by keeping them away from each other at all costs.

Upon their return, Alan had begun making more advances toward Edith. Making it well known that he was looking to further their relationship. Having had the experience of someone else taking what you thought could be yours, managed to pick up his initiative and causing him to be more forward with his intentions.

Edith quickly shut him down as soon as it became apparent to her. She did not want love. She did not want romance. Her love was her writing and her stories. She needn't more than that lest it distract her from her work.

Unfortunately, her work would become a strain to keep up with. After 4 months back home she found herself pregnant, a miracle and a possible curse. Thankfully, her handmaids were the most attentive and helpful women around and made things much easier to do work while trying to fight off morning sickness and back aches.

What surprised her most was after all she had been through physically for the fetus to survive. The poison, the fall from the stairs and the long travel in the cold back from Allerdale Hall would have surely caused some damage to her or the baby at some time but everything seemed perfectly fine. Another thing she worried was that the child may come out with the evil intention inside them considering the father and aunt.

Alan had made one more attempt at Edith's affections, stating how he could at least help with raising the child even though it was not his and again Edith declined. This was her child and her life, as good a friend as Alan was, he was not the father, nor the man she loved and did not need him to intervene but he would always be welcome to visit. He was still a friend after all.

On the day Carter Thomas Sharpe was born there was a cold feeling around the entire house. She had given birth in her room on her own bed and could feel that something or someone was in the room with them observing. That night while the midwife had gone to the main room with the child so Edith could sleep she felt a hand move from her forehead to her cheek in a slow caress waking her from her sleep. When she opened her eyes the hand was gone but a faint white smoke was swirling slowly and disappeared.

For the first week Edith was forced to stay in bed but quickly grew restless. The midwife ordered her to stay for the required three weeks of convalescence while her and the maids would make her comfortable and help tend to the child. Edith was having none of that and was constantly caught roaming around the house with little Carter, showing him things and conversing with him when all he could contribute were coos and yawns. The midwife quickly gave up on forcing Edith to do anything knowing she would only be defied and made sure to have one of the maids at her side at all times.

Once it was time for the midwife and her attendants to leave, Edith was relieved. They had constantly been on her for straining herself when she felt fine doing the things she was doing and her own handmaids were perfectly capable of helping her with anything she absolutely couldn't do.

Being a mother and a publishing writer was difficult at times but for the most part a task she could handle. It was a challenge she all too gladly took and enjoyed every minute. Having her play times with Carter and taking him with her to small events.

His black curls always started a frenzy of gossip everywhere Edith went but quickly died down with how unashamed and confident her and her son were together. She always made a point to never regret what happened.

She loved Thomas, even after what had happened. She knew that he loved her back and died trying to save her, so in her eyes their child was not a mistake. If things had been more ideal there's a possibility that they would have been able to have a real life together and she'd like to think that Thomas, despite his flaws, would have been a good father.

Carter is growing to be a fine young boy. At 2, he was already taking things apart and laying them out in organized piles along the floor. By the time he was 3, he was putting things back together but not always getting it right. At 4, he was a master at deconstructing and rebuilding any device he could get his hands on. Edith was so proud.

On Carter's 6th birthday she had one of his inventions patented and he was already gaining revenue. The boy was as crafty as his father but also had the stubborn smarts of his mother, never backing down from other children who would make fun of him for being so attached to his mother or the oil stains forever on his hands.

Alan always seemed to be around, being a surrogate uncle of sorts occasionally spoiling Carter when he would see Edith getting frustrated with her typewriters constantly being left with missing parts on purpose when she didn't let him have a second desert. At first he avoided the dark haired boy but once he saw Edith's tenacity in him he was instantly caught under his thumb.

One night, a few months after Carter's 9th birthday, Edith awoke suddenly, feeling a pull. She hadn't felt anything like this since her last encounter with the ghosts of Allerdale Hall.

This pull was strong and yearning. She got up from her bed wearing a thick night gown to fend off the cold and made her way to her study. There she found Carter out of his bed at this late hour, in the middle of the room, playing with one of his inventions. Frustration building in her Edith moved with quick steps to him when she stopped dead in her tracks finally getting a look at what he was playing with.

It was the miniature of Thomas's invention whirring lightly with small puffs of steam emitting from its exhaust.

"Carter, dear, where did you get that?"

Without turning around he answered. "It was on the table in the sitting room and a voice told me I needed to bring it here where there was more space. It's fascinating isn't it?" Finally turning around he had a wide grin plastered on his face normally saved for after he'd built something new that worked perfectly. "Who does it belong to, mother? I must know, it's so well built. Could you imagine a full scale of this?"

"Carter, go to bed please."

"But mother I was j-"

"Go to bed!" Edith hated shouting at Carter, and had only twice before done it, but this situation was too heavy for him to be involved. Any one of those specters could be around waiting to come out writhing and spewing words of warning or even Lucille's in a jealous rage waiting for the opportune moment to strike, if her ghost could actually harm her. With all her hate she probably could.

He reluctantly stood and headed for the door leading to his room. "Sorry mum."

When Carter was gone, she tentatively moved towards the little contraption. It sputtered and whirred reminding her of her husband's full sized model digging through the blood red ground.

Tears were falling down her cheeks before she realized she was even crying. Falling inelegantly to her knees beside the machine she felt her insides ache at the thought of her love.

She'd never really allowed herself to mourn him. The trek out of that horror and the bumpy ride back to the nearest town was filled with physical pain until she got to a doctor for full recovery. After coming back to America she'd delved straight into writing and even through the emotional turbulence of her pregnancy she never once cried for Thomas.

Now, here in her study, kneeling next to the small piece of machinery that made her realize that Thomas was as much the dreamer as she was and subsequently sparking the flame that became her love, she allowed herself to cry. Not only cry for what happened to her, but for Thomas. For the life they never got to have. For the life he died trying to attain.

"My dear Edith." Came a soft but distorted voice from behind her.

Startled, Edith turned around quickly, nearly missing the small machine.

"T-T-Thomas?" Edith said with a sob.

Floating above the floor about three feet away from her was the ghost of Sir Thomas Sharpe. White hair, skin and clothes, yellow eyes and white smoke lazily waving away from the wounds at his stomach, chest and face.

Standing quickly, Edith rushed to him, lightly feeling for his chest knowing it would not be solid but willing herself to pretend that he was there. Hiccupping mild sobs she looked up into his blazing eyes.

"How… how are you here? I thought your ghost was trapped by the house."

"I became bound to my inventions. I managed to slither my way to the model and compel whoever touched it to bring me here" His voice was slow and distorted. "I arrived not long after you in a package, but one of your maids had hidden it away in hopes you would not find it since it bore my name. On this day I compelled her to bring me out."

"What da-" Stopping herself she realized the day. It was the anniversary of the fall of Allerdale Hall. This day, 10 years ago, her life had been torn apart and laid out to be put back together. She'd lost her husband and an enemy but gained a new respect for life.

"I've been watching. Seeing you become a wonderful mother, and our son," He stopped there as his features showed sadness, anger, happiness and regret. "Our son. Watching him become an inventor." A long, low sob of a moan escaped his lips. Upset with himself for his death but proud that his heir inherited his knack for building things. It was a bittersweet agony that his ghostly moans could only barely express.

"He's a lot like you, Thomas. He's a genius with his hands and can build nearly anything."

"But he has your drive and confidence." His eyes shown love and admiration she hadn't seen since the first times he'd looked at her all those 10 years ago. "He has the life I would never have been able to provide. As well off as you two are, I could not stop myself from feeling the ache of longing to be with you and him. My true family."

"Thomas. We will always be here. Dead or not you are still my husband and apart of this family."

"Dearest Edith, I can no longer be here. My spirit tires but I stayed to see you and Carter living. I need to move on. My spirit was not made to stay and linger here for so long. I feel the pull constantly but I resist. I love you, Edith, and please tell Carter I love him and how so very proud I am of the man he's becoming."

"Wait, Thomas!"

"I love you."

And he was gone in a cloud of white dust. Falling to her knees once again, Edith sobbed long and hard. She didn't hear the footsteps coming closer until a hand lay on her back. She looked up quickly hoping beyond hope that Thomas had managed something, instead seeing a young Thomas. Her Carter, with worry etched on his face.

"Mother, who was that?"

Turning her face to where Thomas' specter was, she fought back her urge to scream and wail at the pain in her chest. "That was a ghost of my past come back to heal old wounds."